Quasi-Traditional

This is the story you were supposed to see.  Ruth’s been editing again.

If you’ve been reading my blog over the past several weeks, you know that I’ve been taking dance lessons. It’s been harder than I thought it would be. Barbara and I have completed three classes, dropped out of one and started three more. We’ll be done with these just before Christmas and starting another four after the first of the year.

About mid-way through the first few lessons, I observed that we weren’t the best in the class. There were several couples that were excellent. I wondered why they made the investment because they were already very accomplished.

After making that observation, I said, “We don’t have to be the best, but I don’t want to be the worst. We’ve got to practice on our own.”

The fact of the matter was we were the worst in at least one class.  I don’t recall when I was the worst in anything, let alone dancing. I don’t like how that feels. My ego is definitely bruised.

I started going to the squares with several ladies I’d met in my Singles New Beginnings class earlier this year.  My first class was January 8th and the first time I went dancing with my classmates was a couple of weeks later.  We just had fun, and to tell the truth, I hadn’t had fun like that for a couple of years.  New people meant new opportunities. I laughed every week, and I’ve laughed every week since.  Dancing or no dancing.

As for Barbara and me, she’s more technical.  She’d like to perfect each step, while I just want to look good, and feel good, while I’m looking good. When I was fathering and teaching and principaling and superintendenting, I often told the kids to just keep going.  You’re the only one who knows you’ve made a mistake. When you’re singing, dancing or performing in a play, keep smiling and moving forward.  That’s been my advice to Barbara.  No one knows we’ve made a mistake except us.  

If we were performing brain surgery, building a bridge across a river, doing some plumbing or electrical work, accuracy would be critical.  But we’re not. As long as we don’t fall and break a hip, we’ll be fine.  She’s starting to take that advice to heart.

I got my interest in dancing from my mom.  She and her sister, Ruth, danced all the time.  My dad and Uncle Harry took the girls dancing but the girls did the dancing.  The boys drank beer in their youth and “hard stuff” as they aged. Scotch and soda or seven and seven were their go toos. Near the end they drank very little.  They just liked watching the girls.

Mom didn’t drive the last couple years of her life, so I took her to her doctors’ appointments and to get her hair “done”. That’s what she and her sister, Ruth, did.  They got their hair “done”.  It cost money so they wrapped their heads at night in some fan-dangled hair wrap when they went to sleep so it would look nice until it came time to get it “done” again. 

As I drove Mom around Mt. Clemens, she’d point out the locations where she went dancing.  She’d start her explanation with “Your Aunt Ruth and I went dancing there.  Your dad was in the service then.”  Several of the dance halls were located on the second floor, above a mom-and-pop store.  Most where gone by now, but she recalled the locations and pointed them out as we drove by.   There were nine or ten scattered throughout the area.  Her voice filled with joy as she told each tale.

I think her love of dance has influenced me.  She always had fun, and that’s what I’m after now.  Fun.

Barbara and I have decided to take a few private lessons to support the classes we’re taking. Our teacher, Stephanie, is wonderful and says the same about us.  When we arrived the other day for our first private lesson, she asked what we wanted to work on.  She knows we’re taking fourteen different classes.

I said, “I don’t’ expect to be the best at any style, but I’d like to be confident, and looking good, at two or three.  I think bachata is a good place to start.”  So, we have.  If you’re not familiar, it originated in the Dominican Republic among the working class.  It has various styles…Traditional, Modern, Sensual and Urban.  I don’t understand the four styles, but I do know their names.

I’d say my go-to is quais-traditional.  I refer to myself because I’m the leader.  Barbara is the follower.  Stephanie has told us that it’s my job to lead and Barbara’s job to make me look good. If I forget something, I make steps up but do my best to keep the beat.  If we keep moving, no one will know if we’ve made a mistake except the two of us.

I told Stephanie that we’re planning a recital in the spring. We’re zeroing in on April 1st. That’s a couple of weeks after our last class. I’ll make sure you’re invited.